Chapter Fifteen

Graeme awoke to daylight, rolled over, and frowned at the empty spot beside him. It wasn’t like him to sleep heavily. Having spent most of his life bracing himself for what might come next at the abbey, he had always awoken at the slightest noise or sound. He was shocked that had had not been roused when Maisie had gotten up and left the shelter. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the plaid that lay crumpled on the ground, and realized as he did that the other plaid, the one he’d covered Maisie with, was missing. She must have used it to wrap around her shoulders to keep warm in the early morning chill.

Making his way out of the shelter, his attention went immediately to Eppie and Father Ollie, who sat by the fire laughing. As he approached them, they glanced his way, Eppie smirking and Father Ollie grinning.

“I had a hunch the two of ye would suit,” Father Ollie said.

Graeme frowned. “I dunnae ken what ye’re talking about,” he replied as he swept his gaze around the campsite for Maisie.

“I suppose ye dunnae ken why yer new wife is sleeping so late, either,” Eppie said in a teasing voice.

“She’s nae asleep,” he replied. “Have ye nae seen her?”

The smirk slid off Eppie’s face. “Nay,” she said, standing as a worried look replaced the smirk from a moment before. “And I’ve been up since before sunrise. Ye ken I kinnae sleep well.”

A cold knot of fear formed in his stomach as his hand went to the hilt of his sword and he scanned the perimeter for Maisie once more. “Father Ollie, how long—”

“He rose nae long before ye,” Eppie interrupted.

“God’s blood!” Graeme roared. He didn’t fear that she’d run off. She’d not endanger her brother that way, by disobeying the king’s edit. His worry was that she’d met with trouble, like a wolf or another slide into the river... or that she’d been snatched.

“I’m going to check near the water. Ye scan the woods in the opposite direction, and we’ll meet back here,” he said to Eppie. “Father Ollie!” he bellowed at the priest because the man was humming as he sat with his eyes closed and his face up to the sunlit sky.

The priest opened his eyes and jerked his gaze toward Graeme. “Maisie is missing. Ye stay here in case she returns.”

“She’s part of my flock!” the priest blustered, half rising. “I want to aid ye.”

Eppie shook her head, pressing a hand to his shoulder so he would sit back down. “Dunnae take offense to this, Father,” she said in a loud voice, “but ye are more hindrance than help in this case.”

He frowned but nodded. “Ye speak the truth. I’ll keep a watch for her and pray fervently that she’s safe.”

Graeme rushed into the woods toward the water, looking all around him for signs of Maisie as he called her name. In the distance, Eppie calling for Maisie echoed back to him, and he knew Eppie had not located her, either. He pushed the brush aside and jumped fallen logs as an impending sense of doom grew greater and greater. Had she been taken? Was she hurt? He was shocked by the concern he felt for her, despite the divide between them. He started to run toward the water’s edge, driven by a fear that she’d fallen in again, but even if she had, she’d likely have been swept far down river by now, if she hadn’t drowned. That black thought sucked the air out of his lungs as sticks crunched beneath his shoes and cold air hit his face.

As he neared the rushing water, the sound hit him and increased his worry, and about five feet from the edge, in ground made muddy from the previous day’s rain, laid his plaid. His blood froze in his veins as he stopped in front of the plaid, leaned down to pick it up, then stilled. Beside the plaid were the distinct outlines of three sets of footprints—one small, the size of a woman’s, and two sets of larger prints that appeared to be about the length of Graeme’s own foot.

She’d been snatched! He stood up, gripping the plaid in his hand, and let out a roar that came from somewhere deep within. His chest tightened mercilessly. Damn that lass, she’d somehow gotten under his skin and made him like her far more than was wise. He was grateful for all the pre-dawn mornings since his return home, during which his brother had banged on Graeme’s bedchamber door and dragged him into the woods to teach him to track. Ross had said it was one of the most important skills a man could possess.

Graeme crouched low and began to study the area as Ross had taught him and started to follow the trail that was made of only the two larger footprints. The third was gone, as if Maisie had been picked up. The trail led away from the river, down a winding path, and to a tree where two sets of horse hooves were embedded in the mud. Maisie had been taken, put on a horse, and ridden east, so that’s where Graeme would be going to retrieve his temporary, stubborn, brave handfasted wife and rip out the heart of whoever had taken her.

Maisie awoke in darkness and confusion. Something heavy was on her legs and over her chest, and there was a low noise, much like the whisper of someone breathing coming from her left. Ever so slowly, she turned her head, and her lips parted in shock. Aidan lay on his side with his arm thrown over her chest and his leg over hers. A lock of his brown hair covered his left eye, and his right one was closed in sleep. Beyond him, the material of the shelter was closed as it had been when she’d awoken the first time, but she could see that it was night outside.

Devil take Aidan! Graeme would likely have given up looking for her already, or would he have even bothered? He did not want to be handfasted to her, but he most certainly had snuggled against her in the shelter. Men!

She shoved Aidan’s leg and arms off her, sat up, and poked him in the chest. “Wake up!”

Immediately, his eyes flew open, his gaze found hers, and he grinned up at her. “I see ye’re awake.”

“How verra observant of ye,” she growled. “Why did ye let me sleep the day away and nae awaken me? Graeme will have been looking for me, and he’ll likely have given up and headed toward his home. Ye better pray we get there afore they send word to the king that I’ve fled, and the king sends his men to take his wrath out on my brother.”

“I told ye, I’ll nae be returning ye to Graeme until ye give me the chance to show ye that ye can feel passion for me,” he said, sitting up.

“Aidan—”

“Ye’ll nae be changing my mind, Maisie, so dunnae waste yer breath.”

She sat there for a moment, considering what to do. The longer she stayed here arguing with Aidan, the more precious time was wasted. “Get on with it then,” she growled, expecting him to lean toward her and kiss her. Before she knew what was happening, he had her on her back and was looming over her, and as she opened her mouth to scold him, his came over hers.

His kiss was urgent, wet, and unwanted. He did not illicit a single sliver of desire, but he did ignite an inferno. How dare he! She circled her hands to his head to yank him back by his hair, but suddenly, he was gone, and there stood Graeme with one hand around Aidan’s neck and the tip of his sword pointed at Aidan’s heart.

“Give me one reason nae to kill ye for taking what is mine.”

His words came out in a lethal tone that made her shiver as she scrambled to her feet. She came to Graeme’s side, and even in the darkness, she could see the furious tic at his temple and that he was squeezing Aidan’s neck so tightly, he could not breathe.

“Let him go!” she said and tugged at the arm that he was using to grip Aidan.

“Arguing for the life of yer lover, are ye?”

Her lips parted in utter surprise at the jealousy and rage she heard in his voice. “Dunnae be ridiculous!” she snapped and yanked hard on his arm as Aidan himself was now clawing at Graeme’s hand. “Ye are going to kill him, and I doubt the king will be pleased about that!”

He jerked his face to her, and the blazing anger in his eyes made her shuffle backward. Then he released Aidan, who crumbled to his knees, doubled over, and gasped for breath. When Graeme set his sword tip to the back of Aidan’s neck, she cried out in fear.

He jerked his gaze to her for one breath before setting it back on Aidan. “If ye come for her again while she is still handfasted to me, I’ll kill ye,” he warned. “Do ye ken me?”

“Aye,” Aidan croaked. He straightened while still on his knees and looked between Maisie and Graeme before settling his attention on her. “I will wait for ye as long as it takes.”

“It will take until I prove her brother treasonous, or we’ve met the required year and a day,” Graeme spat, turned on his heel, and strode out of the shelter, slinging the material apart as he went. “Ye can come on yer own accord, or I can relay to the king that ye broke the handfast,” he bellowed at her and strode away.

Was he jealous? The notion was preposterous but also made her want to smile. “Dunnae wait for me, Aidan,” she said, glaring at him because she was still vexed with how he had kissed her. “I love ye, but nae like that.” With that, she scrambled after Graeme. He was already mounted and turning his horse away from the camp. “Wait!” she hollered at him, running past Aidan’s gaping warrior and the lad who had hit her on the head. “I’m coming with ye!”

Graeme stopped the horse but did not look at her. “I take it ye can mount without aid.”

“I take it ye’re nae offering to aid me.”

“Ye take me correctly,” he said in a clipped tone.

“I see ye’re back to being rude,” she said, attempting to mount, failing, and attempting it once more before Graeme dismounted with a growl, laced his fingers and nodded toward them. She glared at him. “Are ye jealous?”

His eyes came to hers, his expression full of indifference. “I would have to care for ye to be jealous.”

His words stung more than she expected. She knew logically that they had barely had the chance to become familiar, but she had honestly thought she’d felt something between them, whether it was wise or not. “Ye’re acting jealous,” she muttered, shoved her left foot firmly into his laced palms and her right hand on his shoulder to push off. He lifted and she swung her leg over to mount the horse. He came up behind her, but unlike last time, he left a distinct space between them.

“I did nae take ye for the jealous type,” she said, incensed that he was ignoring her. She had been snatched and been forced to allow Aidan to kiss her so he would take her back to Graeme, and this brutish Highlander was acting as if she had done something wrong.

“I certainly took ye for the dishonorable type,” he replied, his tone courteous but his words rude.

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but snapped it shut. He didn’t deserve her explanations, and she’d not give them until he apologized. So instead, she said, “I hate ye!”

“Good,” he replied, “I dunnae much care for ye, either.”